Solace
by Celli
Summary: Jack struggles with both an unwanted attraction and his fears for Sydney.


Feedback: Positive or negative both welcome. celli@fanfic101.com  
Category: Oh, definitely smut. Angst.  
Pairing: Jack/OFC.  
Rating: Strong R for not-quite-explicit sex.  
Spoilers: S1.  
Summary: Jack struggles with both an unwanted attraction and his   
fears for Sydney.  
Archiving: Credit Dauphine and my site (www.fanfic101.com);   
otherwise just tell me so I can come visit.  
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various other   
people with lawyers. Sadly, this means I don't get Vaughn *or* Jack.   
How unfair is that?  
Thanks, as always, to my wonderful betas--in this case Thorne, Robin,   
Jenai, and Gail. Special thanks to Robin and Jenai for title help.  
  
For JenC--happy belated birthday!  
  
***  
  
Solace  
by Celli Lane  
  
She made the bartender laugh. That's what he noticed about her first.  
  
Jack shifted position against the bar--the reason only drunks and flirts   
stayed on a barstool for hours was that only they could tolerate it--and   
pretended not to watch the waitress as she threw her hands in the air. Her   
face lengthened into an expression of exaggerated shock; the bartender   
doubled over, holding his stomach while he howled.  
  
He set his empty glass where the man could see it once he recovered. The   
overshiny wood of the bar couldn't quite catch her reflection, but he   
followed her shadow as she walked past him. If he turned slightly, he could   
hear her striking up a conversation with the table behind him.  
  
She wasn't coming on to them. She wasn't projecting cheerfulness to get   
through the night or improve her tips. As far as he could tell--and he'd been   
eavesdropping on her for weeks now--she was just happy.  
  
Jack made his way to a table. When she arrived with a menu, he was busy   
telling himself it was complete coincidence he'd chosen a table in her   
section; it's not as though he *knew* her section after all, and--  
  
"Hi there! You don't usually take a table, do you?" She was smiling down   
at him, menu in one hand, tray in another.  
  
"I felt like eating," he said in his coolest tone. She just set the menu in front   
of him.  
  
"I'm all for food myself. Would you like another bourbon while you decide   
what you want?"  
  
"No thanks. I'll have the filet mignon, medium rare, with the twice baked   
potato and ranch dressing on the side for the salad."  
  
She listened carefully, not bothering to write it down, her smile never   
fading. "Great, I'll have your salad out right away." She picked the menu   
back up and waltzed off. Jack found himself glaring at her back and   
stopped. So what if he hadn't intimidated her? She'd probably get his order   
wrong anyway.  
  
She didn't.  
  
***  
  
Jack ate--and drank--at home for a week. He told himself it was easier and   
cheaper than going to the bar. He told himself he was a loner and listening   
to wom--people while he was trying to unwind irritated him. He told   
himself he needed the extra time for work.  
  
He told himself that for a spy he was a really bad liar.  
  
Six days into that week, Sloane called him into his office to tell him that   
Sydney and Dixon had gone missing on a mission in Hong Kong.  
  
***  
  
He sat calmly at the bar. His blank expression didn't reflect the panic   
rolling through his head.  
  
It was always like this every time: Sydney was in danger; Vaughn was   
emoting all over the place and making grandiose plans to get her back; Jack   
was forced to be the realist, the pragmatist, the devil's advocate, and--when   
necessary--the devil himself.  
  
And then he would sit and get drunk--his hand strayed to his phone--while   
he waited for the call that would tell him first if the mission had been   
successful, and only then if his daughter was unharmed.  
  
He always suspected Sloane gave him the information in that order as a   
subversive sort of punishment. So naturally he passed it on to Vaughn in   
exactly that fashion.  
  
*I hate my life. I hate my job--both of them. I hate my coworkers. I am   
not too fond of my daughter right now. And this bourbon is crap.*  
  
He slammed his empty glass down and signaled for more.  
  
A hand clamped down on top of it. "No, Kevin," someone said.  
  
Jack glared at his new least favorite waitress. "Bourbon, Kevin," he said in   
the bartender's general direction.  
  
"*No,* Kevin," she repeated. "He's had enough."  
  
Out of the corner of his eyes, Jack saw the bartender slinking away.  
  
Jack focused on her, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time.   
Before, he could have listed her vitals: five foot nine (about Sydney's   
height), medium build, braided red hair, blue eyes, slightly sharp features in   
a smiling face. Now he saw the faint lines--not laugh lines--around the blue   
eyes, and a knowing expression in them that made him flinch.  
  
"I haven't had nearly enough," Jack said softly.  
  
"Well, you're not getting any more from me, Mr. Bristow," she said without   
breaking her gaze.  
  
In the space of two blinks, Jack stared at her in shock, realized he'd used his   
credit card to pay for dinner the week before, resolved to run a background   
check on her--and also to carry more cash. "What's your name?"  
  
"Suzanne Martin. You want my social security number too?"  
  
"No, I can get that." He shut his mouth with a snap. Maybe he *had* been   
drinking too much.  
  
She rolled her eyes at him, then slid the bourbon glass down to Kevin.   
"Wash that and bring Mr. Bristow a cup of coffee. On the house."  
  
"Why are you--" Jack caught himself, again dammit, and tapped his fingers   
on the bar. Once, twice, three times. His other hand reached for his cell   
phone, traced its outline in his pocket, returned to the bar. "I should go."  
  
"Coffee first, driving later." She took the cup from Kevin and slid it in front   
of him. "What were you going to say before you so rudely interrupted   
yourself?"  
  
"I live two bl--I can walk home."  
  
"That's not what you were going to say."  
  
"You're not happy," he blurted. "This is the first time I haven't seen you in   
a good mood."  
  
She lifted an eyebrow. "I'm positively giddy with joy."  
  
He couldn't help it. He smirked.  
  
She rounded the bar and caught his arm. "Come on, Chuckles. I'll buy you   
dinner. And if you're very good, I might let you have more bourbon."  
  
***  
  
"Do you have children?" Jack asked.  
  
Suzanne shuffled her empty salad plate to the middle of the table and   
rearranged her napkin in her lap. "I have a cat that I baby. Does that   
count?" Jack made a noncommittal noise. She grinned at him. "I assume   
you have children, or you wouldn't have asked."  
  
"Oh. Hmm. A daughter." He definitely had to run that background check.  
  
"And she's why you're..." Suzanne gestured to the bourbon glass she'd   
allowed him after he ate his potatoes.  
  
"What makes you think that?"  
  
"My keen knowledge of human nature." He favored her with his most   
withering glare. "What? I work in a bar. Sooner or later you figure   
everyone out."  
  
"Not me."  
  
She just smirked at him and kept eating her spaghetti.  
  
He was just refining a particularly cutting response when his phone rang.   
"Bristow."  
  
"Jack. It's Arvin."  
  
Cold shock, hot fear. "Sydney?"  
  
"There was...an accident in Hong Kong." Sloane's voice was nearly as even   
as always. "Can you meet me at the hospital?"  
  
"I'm on my way."  
  
It took two tries to fit the phone back in his pocket. He lurched to his feet.   
Suzanne stared at him from across the table.  
  
"I--I need to leave. I'm sorry."  
  
"Can I drive you someplace? Call you a cab?"  
  
"No." He started for the door, stopped, turned back. A dozen inanities   
sprang to mind. *Thank you for the lovely dinner. I enjoyed your   
company. We should do it again some time.* "I--"  
  
"Goodbye, Jack," she said gravely.  
  
He fled.  
  
***  
  
He was sitting on her steps, just around the corner from the bar. He could   
hear her locking the door, saying goodnight to Kevin, humming gently to   
herself as she rounded the corner.  
  
"Oh!"  
  
He didn't take his elbows off his knees or his gaze off his shoes. "You lied   
to me."  
  
"You checked up on me."  
  
"I work for a bank. We're...compulsive about these things." And it had   
given him something to do, sitting at the hospital after Sydney's stomach   
wound had reopened and they'd rushed her into surgery. Angel of Mercy   
was SD-6 owned, after all. There were secure terminals in every high-level   
waiting room. "And you lied to me."  
  
"I did not." A pause. "I may have misled you a bit..."  
  
"You are not a waitress."  
  
"I am. I'm the waitress who owns the bar. Someone has to."  
  
"And you have a child."  
  
She sat down on the step above him. "Had. I had a daughter."  
  
He turned to look at her. All her animation--the humor, the anger--had   
drained away. "She's not dead."  
  
"She's not mine any more." Suzanne sighed, then leaned her head back   
against the railing as if she'd breathed all her energy out. "I get pictures   
once a year. I send birthday cards. When she's eighteen, she can come find   
me. That's five years from now." Another sigh. "I don't have any   
children."  
  
"You make the best choices you can," he said after a long time. "You find   
someone who's...better for them. Then one morning you wake up and   
realize that no one ever said it would help *you.*"  
  
She smiled faintly, but didn't look at him.  
  
"Sydney...I thought of her as having run away for a long time. Though   
perhaps she'd say the same of me. And every time we got close, one of us   
would run away again...to see her in that hospital room tonight was a   
nightmare I can't wake up from."  
  
"Will she be all right?"  
  
"She'll...heal."  
  
More quietly, "Will *you* be all right?"  
  
He leaned back on the stairs. His holster dug into his back. "Not in this   
lifetime."  
  
He felt the movement as she stood and started up the stairs. Slowly,   
deliberately, he followed her.  
  
***  
  
Jack buried his face in her hair. It was limp from being pulled back all day,   
but it hid his face and still smelled faintly of--strawberries? Peaches?   
Something fruity.  
  
He ran his hands down her back. Suzanne pulled away, half-laughing, half-  
gasping. "I should, um, I smell like chicken wings--"  
  
"I don't care."  
  
In the faint light from the bedroom window, he could see her blushing.   
"No, really, I--"  
  
"No, really, *I don't care,*" he said, pulling her back to him. His hands   
flexed on her lower back. *Please don't give me time to be logical about   
this.*  
  
"Kiss me," she said suddenly.  
  
"Oh. Of course." He crushed his mouth to hers.  
  
It was awkward, at first. All the anger and terror kept swimming into his   
brain, making him desperate and clumsy. She made a protesting noise and   
started to back away again.  
  
Goddammit, he couldn't even do this right. He stopped, took a breath,   
changed angles, tried again.  
  
Her lips were soft. Smooth, almost slippery. And she didn't just smell like   
chicken wings--he felt her smile as he licked her bottom lip--she tasted like   
them too. "Midnight snack?" he murmured. She laughed into his mouth.   
He declared the kiss a success when her hands cupped the back of his neck   
and she squirmed closer.  
  
Jack let his hands wander freely as he divested her of purse, blouse, short   
skirt--she had particularly pleasant knees. Her shoes went flying into a   
corner, where a muffled yowl made Suzanne giggle again. He felt her laugh   
vibrate where his lips were pressed to her stomach.  
  
He guided her until she was on her back on the bed, wearing only a tan bra   
and black nylons. Which to take off first...he let his hand wander between   
the two until she twisted to grab it.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be...you know...naked, too?"  
  
He gave her a long, searing, head-to-toe look. "Doesn't bother me."  
  
She laughed again. "Liar."  
  
He raised an eyebrow, which just made her laugh harder. This time, he   
kissed her, swallowing the sound as he settled his weight on her.  
  
"Mmm." She waited until he lifted his mouth. "Jack." She bit his chin.   
Not gently. "Get naked. *Now.*"  
  
He rolled them both to the other side of the bed. The last logical part of his   
brain prompted him to take the holster off first. He buried it under the rest   
of his clothes and hers, then dove into a new exploration of her body,   
bumping into her on occasion as she did the same to him.  
  
Several breathless minutes later, Jack caught Suzanne's hand as it   
"explored" an especially sensitive spot. "Condom?" he asked through   
gritted teeth.  
  
She stared up at him. "You don't have one?"  
  
"Christ, I'm fifty-two years old."  
  
"And obviously you never have sex," she said, moving her hand back.  
  
He groaned. "*Suzanne*..."  
  
"Oh, relax." She snickered at the look on his face. "I'm a woman of the   
nineties. They're in..." She leaned away enough to dig through a drawer   
with her free hand. "Somewhere..."  
  
"The nine--" He grabbed at her hand again. "The nineties ended two years   
ago."  
  
"Well, let's hope these suckers haven't expired yet." She handed him one.   
"Let me help you..."  
  
Jack nearly choked at her "help." "No, really..." Turnabout was fair play.   
"Let me help *you.*"  
  
He'd never known anyone who laughed during an orgasm before.  
  
***  
  
Jack awakened slowly, aware that someone was moving near him. His   
fuzzy brain classified the movement as non-threatening, and he lay still, idly   
running his usual problems through his mind. Sydney--still hurt. SD-6--  
still functioning. Sloane--still alive. He kept his eyes closed against reality   
for a moment more, then gave up and opened them.  
  
Suzanne was sitting in a comfortable-looking chair near the door. The cat   
he'd only heard last night was draped across the back of the chair, its tail   
just brushing her shoulder. In her lap was a stack of neatly folded clothes--  
his clothes; on top, the holstered gun.  
  
Reality indeed. "Shit."  
  
"Good morning to you," she said with a hint of a smile. "You lied to me."  
  
He thought about it for a moment. "I lie to everyone."  
  
"All right. Will you tell me the truth?"  
  
"No."  
  
Her faint smile didn't change. The cat flicked its tail once.  
  
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. "This would be a lot easier if I weren't   
naked."  
  
"I know."  
  
He'd be swearing a blue streak, if he could think of any words profane   
enough. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Are you a criminal?"  
  
"No. But I'm not--I'm not a hero either."  
  
"I see." That same damn smile. "So how do I trust you, Jack?"  
  
He waited for her to throw his clothes at him--or him out the door. It would   
be easier for both of them in the long run. But she just kept *smiling* at   
him.  
  
To hell with it. He threw the covers off, crossed the room, and dragged her   
out of her chair. After a frozen moment, she returned his kiss. The gun   
clunked to the floor as her arms went around him.  
  
"What about your keen sense of human nature?" he asked when they came   
up for air.  
  
Suzanne blinked up at him; then her face cleared and she laughed. "There is   
that."  
  
Jack smiled.  
  
--the end-- 


End file.
